For this Diary I'll use the name Madeleine – Maddy for short.
I'm small and pretty, with long blonde hair, a great figure and I'm a contract killer.
You can't properly call a woman hit-man. Nor can you say hit-woman or hit-girl or, even more classy, hit-lady. So I prefer the term Assassin. When selected to this calling I gave my life to it as a nun does to religion.
I entered University with two languages and came out with six, along with two top degrees and – as with all young people – a need to change the world.
The chance came when, recruited within days of leaving, I agreed to an interview in an expensive house on the edge of town. Stunned by the rich opulence of the place I hardly heard the opening words of my Recruiter.
'We saw your potential in finishing school and followed your progress ever since. In University you collected four more languages, two great degrees and excelled at sport. You avoided alcohol and drugs, played every possible sport and took on and beat men in martial arts. Your father showed you how to handle guns before the age of ten and you became a superb shot. You have everything we need and if you agree you will become rich in your own right but give up what is seen as a normal life.'
He explained the job in detail and said, 'Think before you agree. To say yes means you'll act out a lonely life in the shadows.'
I still said 'Yes'. Why shouldn't I? My whole lonely life so far had been an act. Adding shadows would make no difference. And I found the thought of killing people who deserve to die quite attractive.
They sent me straight to wilds of another country for three years detailed training in two more martial arts, three more languages and many ways to kill.
My training included tracking and killing Targets in towns, villages, mountains, ravines, deserts and seas and skills in escaping after a Hit from those towns and villages and over those mountains, ravines, deserts and seas, with or without equipment.
It included the art of disguise and fading into the background in any crowd, city or situation before or after a Hit.
It included the stripping, maintaining and shooting every possible weapon an Assassin might use.
It included burglary, lock-breaking, safe-breaking, the disabling of security systems, the elimination of armed guards by knife, bare hands or silenced pistol.
It included killing Targets in a dozen different ways, using knives, handguns, sniping rifles, poisons and chemicals or, again, bare hands.
And it included detailed training in many kinds and styles of sex. Lots and lots of sex.
I enjoyed every moment of the whole course, but most of all I enjoyed the sex. Instructors, both male and female, showed me how to seduce using Thai, Chinese, Japanese, Swedish and American techniques. American? Yes. They lead the way in some really interesting ideas.
And Indian sex. 'Not that too vague and time consuming tantric rubbish. Stick to the stuff on temple walls. You'll need to stay fit and supple but I'm sure you'll handle that.'
Before release at the end of the course I asked, 'Have you turned me into a psychopath?'
'No,' said my Recruiter. 'We've enhanced what you already had. Not many get even halfway through. You've passed with flying colours. Now go into the world and await your first instruction.'
Final advice from Recruiter: 'Go to where you don't know the language. Learn it and never use it outside that country so no-one can ever trace you home, including us. Who knows? The day may come when we need to eliminate you.'
I flew to another continent and disappeared into a secret life. Not even my Handler knew where I settled.
My two difficult Death Hits in Nepal and India left me needing a break, so I put my long term contract to find and eliminate six murderous Judges from the Serb war against Bosnia on hold for three months.
A few days after leaving India, my cloud mail box pinged.
Where are you and what are your plans? We need further action now.
I had worked out that some power or international organisation wanted all six Judges eliminated as soon as possible to avoid capture and interrogation.
Someone didn't want them to sing.
But to hell with that.
I needed a rest.
I replied: On holiday, recovering from India. Expect to be operational again in eight weeks.
They answered immediately; Well done on Judges One and Two. Plan for following changes: Judge Three now in Scandinavia, Judge Four in Uzbekistan, Judges Five and Six still in Brazil and Mexico. More detail when you are ready.
Needing stimulation and recreation I circled the world, having plenty of sex with plenty of men, all shapes, sizes and colours. Some I picked up. Some picked me up. In restaurants, on ships and planes, or just in the street. And, best of all, in luxury brothels.
I enjoy the life of a high class call girl.
The food is great, the pay excellent and you meet a higher standard of bucks and stallions than when fishing in clubs and bars.
I travelled using half a dozen different nationalities and disguises; keeping close and careful watch for any followers.
I still worried about Oxford Boy, my lover and adversary and British intelligence operative in North India.
He may have guessed or discovered more about me than I want.
He must by now realise I am an efficient professional assassin.
He seems to have reason to protect The Judges and may know where the remaining four are hiding.
So now I could be up against a government with unlimited resources and a posse of killers on my trail.
And the clever bastard is likely to already have several neat ambushes waiting for me.
As always I skipped in random pattern between countries and continents, changing planes, tickets and nationalities as I went.
I might leave a place as French and arrive as German, or whichever nationality took my fancy; finally settling in Milan as a wealthy young American with business ideas.
'I'm planning a chain of top fashion stores throughout the USA,' I gushed to each famous designer I met and allowed them to quote ridiculous prices I had no intention of paying. 'I'll be selling only top European clothes and want the most expensive.'
For two weeks I visited all the best fashion houses, studying their latest designs.
At the same time I checked out the more interesting models, twirling and flouncing to show off their wares, flashing tiny tits and long legs.
A few sultry glances offered promise of action and I made several whispered arrangements in crowded cutting rooms.
Hinting at strong financial backing I entered negotiations with half a dozen top manufacturers, inviting them, and the best of their models, to my luxury hotel suite for private fashion shows and parties.
I could see they thought me a wonderful addition to their frantic drink-and-drugs-laden lifestyle but, for the moment, I did not allow things to turn into an orgy.
At least, not yet.
When I want an orgy I'll arrange my own.
They tried to ply me with their drink and drugs, amazed at my refusal to join their exciting world.
'No vodka, darling? No cocaine. But, sweetie, these are things that make the world go round.'
'Not for me honey. Never touch 'em. This is what I like,' and I'd stroke the odd cock or trail my fingers along a damp and delicate quim.
Most of the men grimaced and pulled away.
Some of the women giggled and pushed forward.
During my stay in Milan I learned all I could about current fashion and trends by asking dumb questions.
I find it amazing how people will open up to a complete stranger – especially a complete stranger flashing lots of money – and picked up all I needed to know by listening to designers, models and the occasional seamstress.
By the end of the second week I had enough information to sound expert in the high class stores and galleries of Stockholm when I get there.
During the third week I visited most of Milan's famous fashion shops disguised as the trophy wife of a rich but elderly German banker.
Using all I'd learned I filled two trunks with the latest ideas and accessories and sent them to Stockholm by courier.
No one noticed the little mouse of a woman who changed trains at Basel and climbed onto the luxury sleeper to Hamburg where, at dawn, she boarded the Stockholm train, arriving in the early evening as Donatella, a smart, savvy Italian woman able to hint at Mafia connections, with plans to extend her chain of high-class Italian stores into Sweden.
This beautifully dressed woman, confident and perfectly at home strode into the lobby of Stockholm's most exclusive hotel; making certain both men and women noticed and gave her the eye.
The two trunks had already arrived in my enormous rooftop penthouse with all those beautiful clothes unpacked and hanging in a room-sized wardrobe.
A little blonde maid curtseyed as I swept in.
With lowered eyes she whispered, 'I touched up a few of the creases Madame. I hope you don't mind.'
I wondered if, perhaps, I could touch up a few of her creases, but decided now is not the time.
'Thanks,' I said. 'Are you mine while I'm here?'
'Yes Madame. I am your personal maid, available for whatever you want.'
'I'm sure I'll think of something.'
She giggled and withdrew.
I sent a message.
Arrived Scandinavia. Where do I find Judge Three?
Within minutes my Cloud Mail-Box pinged.
In Stockholm working as a lawyer. Take care. He is protected and may be aware that two Judges are gone.
For once my Employers made it easy by giving me his cover name.
All I need to do is find him.
I ate dinner in my room and made my plans.